


My Songs Know

by oursolemnhour49



Series: Domesticity in Monstrous Worlds [3]
Category: Sleepy Hollow (TV)
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Friendship, Gen, Light Angst, Music, No Plot/Plotless, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-28
Packaged: 2018-01-09 19:51:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,110
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1150108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oursolemnhour49/pseuds/oursolemnhour49
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a bad first encounter, Ichabod Crane is convinced that modern music is nothing but a senseless cacophony of possibly demonic origins. Abbie's pretty sure that with a little time, she can prove him wrong. Very slight spoilers in the last chapter for Episode 7, "The Midnight Ride."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Yelling Wood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kyoko Minamino](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Kyoko+Minamino).



Abbie Mills’s work as a policewoman had always involved unpleasantness, but with the addition of a time-travelling ex-soldier and a headless horseman, it seemed her difficulties had increased a hundred-fold. On the nights where she’d had to break up a bar fight and then respond to a domestic and then respond to a handgun call, she wanted nothing more than to curl up on her old couch and sleep for hours. Reading about demons wasn’t the last thing she wanted to do, but it was pretty far down the list.

However, since demons had firmly established themselves in her life, there was no alternative but to make them part of her routine. And to do that, she was going to have to find a way to stay awake. The last time she had fallen asleep on an open book of demonology, she had been woken to Crane moving it away gingerly with a pained look of concern for the book.

So she booted up her laptop and switched on a playlist containing every bouncy pop tune she’d come across in the past five years. With that on shuffle and a decent cup of half-caf, she could probably get in a couple hours of work. Flipping through her notes, she finally was able to pinpoint which volume of world religion she had been reading at her last session. 

Because reading had never been a habit of hers, she always forced her whole brain to focus on the entire text to the point of shutting out all outside distractions. As a result, she was not paying attention when Crane emerged from another part of the church, papers clutched in hand. 

After several minutes, Abbie finally looked up to see him rooted in the doorway, staring at her laptop as if it was possessed by a demon. “What is it?” she asked.

“That- that noise,” he said in the same way one might say “smell” around rotten eggs.

Abbie glanced at the laptop, which was cheerfully blasting Pitbull and Ke$ha’s “Timber.” “Are you referring to my laptop’s clogged vents, or the song?”

“I have no idea what you mean by clogged vents, so I am going to assume that the shrill and metallic sounds coming from the machine are what you mean by song.”

With difficulty she kept herself from laughing. “Yes, that is a song. I take it you don’t like it?”

“It has barely any kind of melody! And the lyrics- if they can be called such- have absolutely no logical pattern or sense. What inherent meaning is there in ‘It’s going down?’ And what on earth is gained by her shouting about wood?”

There were so many possible innuendos to be made from those questions that Abbie hardly knew where to begin. “It’s just a song,” she said with a smile. “One that, you know, makes some hints about hooking up at the end of the night. It’s not meant to be serious or have much meaning.”

She could almost follow Crane’s thought process of understanding, from his bewildered look at the phrase “hooking up” to his sudden staring at his toes when he worked out the meaning. Since his head was down, she took the chance to grin helplessly at the text. “Okay, so it’s not the best example of modern music, I’ll give it that.”

“That is an understatement.” 

“I’ll find you something better, promise.”

"That would assume there is something better out there to find." 

Abbie shoved her chair back. "You knock all modern music, Crane, and I can find you two hundred examples to prove you wrong." 

"Just two would be sufficient," he said haughtily. "But I doubt you'll find them." 

She laughed. "That's a bet, Crane."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This very silly fic was written for my friend Kyoko Minamino, after she expressed an interest in fic with Ichabod and Abbie being cute. I was going to try to do something cuddly but this silliness popped into my head instead. Maybe next time I can get in some cuddling. 
> 
> Lyrics are from "Timber" by Pitbull featuring Ke$ha. I have no rights to the song or the characters from Sleepy Hollow.


	2. Jubilation

Some days later they were driving from the precinct up to the cabin with a gigantic load of items to make the place livable for Ichabod. Abbie was switching the channels out of habit, and in passing happened on a song that immediately put a smile on her face. “Okay, Crane, pay attention.” She cranked the volume and began to tap the steering wheel in rhythm. After only a few lines, she found herself singing along. 

_“Oh, Cecilia, I’m down on my knees, I’m begging you please to come home…”_

She had completely forgotten about the reference to making love in the afternoon and finding someone else in the bed, and was amused to see that Crane turned completely scarlet. Still, he tried valiantly to keep his face straight. “It has a certain rhythm, I suppose.”

“You suppose?” Abbie laughed. “This is a classic!” 

He stared. “Something this repetitious is a classic? There’s a certain charm to the lyrics, if you look past the bawdiness…”

“Oh, come on, that hardly qualifies as bawdy. I’m pretty sure you had more explicit numbers for everyday use in the army. The euphemisms were different.”

“But I would never have used them in front of a lady...”

_“Jubilation!”_ Abbie cut off whatever he was going to add in song. _“She loves me again!”_

And though it was only out of the corner of her eye, she saw him crack a bit of a smile. 

“Admit it,” she said as soon as the song ended. “You liked that one that just a bit.”

“I will admit, there was some enjoyment to be taken from the melody.” 

“Okay, that’s a help. Moderate liking for Simon and Garfunkel. I’ll go through Corbin’s CDs the first chance I get.”

Crane looked rather surprised. “That song- you heard of that from your mentor.”

“Yes, I heard that 'bawdy' song with Corbin. He was a big fan of Paul Simon and a lot of old stuff. I wasn't so much, but I really like that one.”

They were quiet until they pulled up to the cabin. As they were unloading, Crane’s brow was furrowed. “Please do not think I’m insulting the song, but I am curious- why do you enjoy it so much?”

Abbie thought about that. She could recall Corbin humming it, and whenever the song came on the radio, she would always crank it to full volume. Oddly, she hadn’t heard it since the day he died- not until this car trip. 

“Honestly?” she told Crane as they got up to the cabin. “I think just because it’s happy.”

“Even though the singer faces infidelity and heartbreak?”

Abbie laughed. “Even then. He’s got this love and he takes a lot of joy in it. It’s still love and it’s still fun and it still gives them both some joy. Even if it’s messed up as hell.” She dumped her groceries on the table and went back to the door. “Yeah, I think that’s why. Find joy even in the messed-up things.” 

Crane followed her, looking thoughtful. “Indeed. Perhaps this modern music has more nuance than I first suspected.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?” 

“But it’s still sadly lacking in lyrical beauty.” He gave her a smirk that really shouldn’t have been as attractive as it was. “So this does not count towards the ill-advised bet you made.”

Abbie groaned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics are from Simon & Garfunkel's "Cecilia" and I own neither the rights to that or the characters of Sleepy Hollow.


	3. The Sax

That Saturday afternoon, Abbie came to the cabin to discover Jenny had arrived. She was seated at the front table cleaning one of her many handguns. Jazz was playing in the background and Crane was listening to it with some fascination. 

Abbie started at the two of them for a minute. “Hi,” she said at last. “I didn’t know you were into jazz music.” 

That was directed at her sister, but Crane immediately jumped to attention. “This music, Miss Mills- it has an absolutely fascinating history and method of playing. I find it incredible that there are so many names and possible designations within the music, and the fact that improvising is a key part of playing is most unusual to me. I will have to study it further when I get the chance.”

Abbie and Jenny exchanged glances and Jenny smiled. “I didn’t know you were a music buff, Crane,” she said. 

“We’re working on it, slowly but surely,” Abbie replied. “He’ll get through the lexicon of modern rock yet. And I didn’t know you were a jazz person.”

Jenny shrugged “I’m not much of one,” she said. “But when I was travelling out in the middle of nowhere in some Middle Eastern desert- for some reason the only CD that would play in the car we were using was a jazz one. I don’t know who the artist was or what era it was from. But listening to it would calm me down. And when Corbin found out, he found me a bunch of old CDs. He never said anything about it, but before I went on a trip, I’d always find a new CD to listen to.” She smiled sadly. “He was even able to find me some John Coltrane videos. And when iPods got big, it’d be gift cards with a note suggesting an artist.”

Silence fell. Abbie took off her coat and tried to think of what to say next. “Neat,” was her awkward response. She still wasn't used to the thought of her sister knowing Corbin and working with him, and absurd though it was, she felt the sting of being left out. 

To distract herself, she turned her attention back to the music. “I thought jazz was sort of sad, though- the blues, that kind of thing?” 

“It can be both,” Jenny said with a smile. “It depends on the tune. But no matter what, my favorite part of jazz is always going to be the sax.”

Crane looked from one sister to the other. “The sax?” 

“Saxophone,” Jenny said. She leaned over the laptop and soon the rich melodious sounds of a blues player filled the little cabin. Crane stared at the player in the video as if hypnotized.

By the time the song had ended, Crane’s eyes were bright with fascination. “A truly enchanting instrument. It is especially incredible that he can perform so well with so little guidance.”

Abbie couldn’t help but grin at the sheer wonder in his voice. “Maybe when we get done with this, we could find you lessons.” 

He looked equal parts delighted and embarrassed. “I have many talents, but unfortunately musical ability is not one of them…” 

“Nor, apparently, is modesty,” Jenny murmured. Abbie bit back a laugh. 

If Crane heard either of them, he ignored them both and went on, “… But if there is an opportunity to see this music in action, I think I shall have to make note of it and attend.” 

“Well, look at that,” Abbie said with a grin. “You’ll be cultured and enjoying something from the modern era. It’s a minor miracle.”

“An occurrence which I am sure will be very uncommon,” Crane replied haughtily. Abbie wondered if he was afraid to get attached to her era because of a secret hope that he could still find his own. “But,” he went on, “I am sure it will be beneficial to me in the long run.” 

She nodded. Maybe there was hope for him after all- and hope for her to find something his picky taste would enjoy for its own sake. For a second she considering mentioning the bet, but decided against it. If Crane was genuinely enjoying the strains of the saxophone, she had no desire to interrupt with an ill-timed “I told you so.” 

Besides, there were no lyrics in any of the songs Jenny was playing, so they probably couldn’t have counted toward the challenge anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're even mildly interested in jazz, I highly recommend looking up live video of John Coltrane (sax) and Miles Davis (trumpet) on YouTube. My personal experience with jazz is limited to a couple years of clarinet work, but even I can tell what those guys can do with their instruments is just amazing.


	4. Could You Help Me Place This Call?

Later that weekend, Abbie and Crane began the process of sorting through the cabin. It was not a painless process for Abbie. Every time she began to organize Corbin’s things, she could see his smile and hear his voice. 

She took a moment to flip through an ancient collection of vinyl records, telling herself that the dust getting in her eyes would be an explanation for why they had become so watery. Corbin probably hadn’t listened to these in years, but he would have liked having them around. He liked holding on to history, that she knew and not just from the revelation that he had known more about the Revolutionary nonsense she was now facing than she’d thought. 

The record player itself was going to have to go. Abbie tried to lift the needle, telling herself it was only for curiosity’s sake and not because she longed to play the songs Corbin had loved. But it would barely move and the whole thing was caked with dust. Perhaps after cleaning it, she could sell it for a decent price- Crane was getting nominal fees for consulting, but they barely would buy a decent breakfast at the Starbucks he hated so much. 

She lugged the record player out the dining room. Crane was nowhere to be seen, but Abbie suspected that wherever Corbin had kept his books was where she would find him. 

She went back to the record room to find that Corbin had apparently been a bird watcher in his spare time. There were twelve files of sketches and photographs to sort through. Abbie took one look and grabbed the battery-powered radio in the kitchen. The laptop battery was on its last legs and she would be sorting for at least an hour. Music was practically a requirement. 

Some half an hour later, Crane entered the room with three volumes of history in hand, only to find her quietly crying with the radio playing beside her. 

_“I’ve overcome the blow, I’ve learned to take it well. I only wish my words would just convince myself that it just wasn’t real. But that’s not the way it feels.”_

Jim Croce had been another of Corbin’s favorite artists, but unlike with “Cecilia,” he had never blasted “Operator.” Instead he had always sung it with a slow sadness, one that seemed almost unconscious. When she was younger, Abbie had always found the song boring and had never understood why he would listen to that over some of his more upbeat songs. It was not until the radio had caught her off-guard with the gentle melody that all her memories of Corbin seemed to surge up and overwhelm her. As if he was before her, she could imagine his eyes growing sad and his hand reaching out to adjust the tuning of the radio.

Now Abbie wondered now if there had been some heartache in his past that he had never shared with her. She would never have the chance to ask him now, and with his bird photographs spread out on her lap and with the warmth of his house all around, the loss of him had become a gaping hole. 

Until Crane put a hand on her shoulder, she did not realize he had come close. “Sorry,” she whispered, furiously scrubbing at her eyes. “This- I don’t know what this one meant to him either.” 

_“There’s something in my eyes. You know it happens every time, I think about the love that I thought would save me.”_

She stared at Crane, amazed that he knew the lyrics, and he looked apologetic. “The song ended and I heard the second part of it. It is… surprisingly poignant.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” Abbie whispered. She took a deep breath. “I didn’t realize how much… how well that song captures sadness for things you can’t change.”

Crane helped her to her feet. “Will you listen to it again?” 

“Well, I doubt I’ll think of it as boring again, that’s for sure.” 

“You thought that song boring? It was the first song of these times that I thought close to beautiful.” 

Abbie giggled shakily. “Well, aren’t you being generous today.”

“I mean it,” he said with a slightly wounded look. “There was real heartache in that song.”

“Yeah,” Abbie said heavily. “Yeah, there was. But you know, weird as it sounds- it helped to hear. I used to think a song like that was just too slow to listen to, but it felt right hearing it tonight.”

“Music can bring to light things that would have remained hidden otherwise,” Crane murmured. He sounded like he was speaking to himself, and Abbie wondered if he had a memory stirred by the song. After a few seconds, he met her eyes again. “I for one, am glad to have heard that song. Even if it was of modern composition.” 

Despite herself, Abbie smiled. “I’m glad to hear it.” 

Crane smiled back. “This means you’ve gotten halfway towards your bet, Miss Mills.”

She blinked away the last traces of tears, and began to laugh softly as she looked down at the radio. “So I am.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics are from Jim Croce's "Operator (That's Not The Way It Feels)." If you haven't heard it, you really should. It's an absolutely beautiful song and one of my all-time favorites. Sorry I didn't post this yesterday- a hockey game ended up taking up my entire day and left me really sore and sleepy when I finally got back home. 
> 
> (Also this part was where I realized that this is at least as much about Abbie and Corbin as it is her and Ichabod. I'm really sorry if anyone feels bait-and-switched, it just sort of sneaked up on me)


	5. Light 'Em Up

“Crane, are you absolutely certain about this?” 

“Quite certain. I value your ability in many fields, but you yourself said that you do not know how to ride horseback.”

Abbie buckled in her seatbelt and looked at him with a deadpan expression. “I don’t know how to ride horseback _well_.” 

“A moot distinction when your pursuer will be a horseman of considerable skill even without his head.”

“Point taken,” she admitted. “You nervous?”

Crane gave her an impressive glare. “I have fought in countless battles by both land and sea against numerous entities both supernatural and otherwise and have held my own in each and every one of them.” 

Abbie regarded him for a minute. His ridiculous coat looked more tattered than ever and though he was resolutely stern-faced, she noticed that his hands were trembling a little. “It’s okay to be nervous about this guy,” she said gently. 

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better about using myself as bait?” 

“You did volunteer. But if you want, I do mean it when I say I can do this part instead.” 

“That won’t be necessary.” He made a move to get out of the car and then stopped short. “Miss Mills- I know this may sound like a strange question, but do you have any suggestion for how to remain calm when putting a plan of this… well, this madness into place?” 

Abbie thought about that for a minute. Since the plan was to trick the Horseman into thinking Crane had its head and then lure him underground to trap him in UV light, she was running short on examples that could apply. She would be in as much danger as Crane in her role- as long he survived the first step. And though she had done some wild things in her youth, she had never had to run from a galloping horse. 

She took a quick glance at the sun, which was beginning to sink rapidly. There was no good answer for Crane here, for there was no way to take complete and utter madness and make it palatable or make sense. Though he had done such things before, it was not quite the same, Abbie felt. A soldier had a cause, at least, and a commander and a leader. Here Crane was an outsider, a resistance fighter in a motley crew. It was hardly the kind of thing to make anyone charge into a challenge, even if they had seen far worse.

Crane seemed to read her thoughts. “Strange, is it not,” he murmured at last. “I’ve faced worse than this before.”

“There’s probably some bad memories associated with the horseman,” Abbie said softly. She couldn’t fathom how to explain the possibility of post-traumatic stress disorder to him, especially since she vaguely recalled it wasn’t even regarded as an issue for soldiers until well after the World Wars. Even she had been remotely qualified to give armchair therapy, she wasn’t sure there was a precedent in therapy for Crane going back against an opponent that had- if you wanted to get technical- brought about Crane’s death.

But even if Crane’s war was over, he still had battles to fight and now Abbie had to join him. Out of reflex whenever silence fell in a car, she began adjusting the radio. She thumbed through the stations and by pure luck, hit upon what the only song she could imagine fitting for a job like this one. 

The percussion and chanting of the beginning put a bewildered look on Crane’s face. “Miss Mills, how is this…?” 

“Sh!” she said quickly. “Just listen to the lyrics, trust me.”

He sighed, but not so loudly as to drown out the opening lines: _“Be careful making wishes in the dark, dark. Can’t be sure when they’ve hit their mark, And besides in the mean, mean time, I’m just dreaming of tearing you apart.”_

Crane’s jaw fell open. “Lieutenant, how is this helpful?”

“Keep listening!” 

When Fall Out Boy’s song blasted to “light ‘em up,” Crane asked no more questions. Abbie wondered if he felt the same thing she did listening; a wild rush that kindled both her rage against the horseman and her burning desire to see this madness end. She had liked this song since she caught it on the radio earlier that summer, but now that her life had gone up in literal flames, she found an odd joy in the reckless abandon of the song. She was indeed in the details with the devil, so she might as well embrace it here. There was anger in the beat, a sort of ferocious warning and joy in the strange reminder that really, any secret could come to light and now was the time to bring them forth. 

The song crashed on, and Abbie thought of the axe in the barn door, of Corbin’s cry and broken body afterward, and clenched her hands. Too many people close to her had suffered and there would be more caught in the coming maelstrom. She would face the Horseman with her bare hands if it meant that she could put an end to this madness. 

Crane stirred beside her and one look at his set eyes was enough to convince Abbie that he felt the same.

The song ended and Abbie switched off the radio. “Sorry,” she said, suddenly feeling very awkward. “I didn’t think about- I don’t know why, but that song helped me. I know you probably hated it. But I needed to hear it then.” 

“It did take some getting used to. The vocals in particular…” His voice trailed off. “Though it does remind me sometimes of when men would shout before going into battle. Which makes it appropriate enough for our current situation, I suppose.” 

Abbie wondered if he had ever given a battle cry. The image was so startling that it almost made her laugh, and yet she could imagine it, if either his anger or his determination reached a boiling point. The man beside her was many things, but he was no coward and he was no stranger to anger or pain. 

They were both quiet for a minute. The sun seemed to sink even lower than before, and Crane finally stirred. He looked thoughtful, and there was still a hint of nervous energy in the way he turned to her, but he seemed calmer. “Our time is running short. I should probably start preparing for the next step of the plan.”

Abbie nodded and met his eyes. “Be careful, okay? This is pretty risky.”

Crane gave her a brief smile. “Believe me, Lieutenant, as rousing as that last song was, I have no intention of allowing it to be the last melody I hear on this earth.”

She smiled back. “So can I take that to mean you liked it?” 

He sighed. “Miss Mills, merely because a song can inspire men to go to battle…” His voice trailed off and Abbie wondered, not for the first time, what he carried with him from his wars in the years gone by. 

Crane did not seem to notice her scrutiny. He glanced out at the horse he would be using soon and then back at her. “Yet despite my mixed feelings toward the vocals, they were- well, invigorating. I do feel ready to face the horseman. Perhaps there is worth in it after all.”

“So I beat your challenge.” She grinned at him. “Told you there were some good things in modern music.” 

“Even though the song in question was noisy and occasionally shrill- I suppose you were right.” He stepped out of the car and the sun shone red on his dark hair. Never had the soldier in him been more evident. “Shall we-as the song said- light him up?” 

Abbie thought about the axe buried in the barn door and the wretched horse riding off into the dawn. “Yes,” she said grimly. “Yes, we shall.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyrics are from, as stated in the text, Fall Out Boy's "My Songs Know What You Did In The Dark (Light Em Up)." I thought they were fitting, given the plan for trapping the horseman, and kind of fun for the show overall. And it's a song that both I and the friend for whom this was written really enjoy. 
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who has read, commented, and given kudos! Later (which could mean anything from days to weeks, given my schedule) I'll be doing a slightly more introspective fic from Crane's perspective with some songs suggested by Mara01 that I think would be really interesting for him to analyze. 
> 
> Till then, good luck with the hiatus and may your heads stay ever attached to your shoulders!


End file.
